


Radical Notion

by melonbutterfly



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bondage, First Time, M/M, Oblivious, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:06:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has been coming on to him for years, and he hasn't followed through yet. Arthur decides that it's time for drastic measures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radical Notion

It's the fourth job they're doing together as a team since the Inception and really, they're all just doing it for fun anymore; for fun and for the thrill. Saito seems to view jobs as both a vacation and a sort of training that keeps him on his toes; Yusuf joins them when he gets bored (one can't really get back to being just a Chemist anymore after succeeding with Inception), and Cobbs agrees to do jobs every now and then, but never stays away from his children for longer than five days. Ariadne, Arthur and Eames are always there; they work as the core team now, doing jobs even when the others aren't there.

And Arthur has about enough. He and Eames have been playing the game ever since their first meeting, and each time they come together again, Eames pulls it up another notch. First there was only staring, then came small, almost unnoticed flirtations, and slowly, steadily he built the tension up until he was touching Arthur fairly regularly, as well as lavishing with compliments (or teasing remarks) at every turn, usually topped with a term of endearment.

And Eames _just can't get a hint_. Arthur isn't the most expressive person on the planet – even just in the room – but usually, the objects of his desire _notice_ when he returns their affections.

But Eames, of course, strives to surprise Arthur at every turn, and is fucking oblivious. It's frustrating, as well as terribly puzzling, because Arthur knows for a fact that Eames is genuinely interested in him (Ariadne has learned how to play her cards as the girl whom everybody talks to very quickly, and the car Arthur bought her in return really fits her style, if he does say so himself). So, one day, as they're sitting in a nice hotel suite (the hotel of which Saito owns, so they don't have to worry about bugs or anything like that), chatting and catching up on each other (their jobs usually start out with something of a coffee klatsch, to Arthur's slight amusement, which is why he at one point started to schedule their meeting up a day early so they have enough time), he comes to the conclusion that really, Eames is just stupid. He might know when someone wants to fuck him, but he has not the slightest clue when someone who he considers more than just physically attractive returns that interest.

And, honestly, Arthur only has so much patience. So when he comes to that conclusion? He decides it's time to resolve that situation once and for all. He has no intention to complete one more job with blue balls, only to have Eames throw him a longing goodbye glance and slink off. No way.

"Eames," he snaps and stands. Eames, having been in the middle of telling the exciting tale of their last job to Cobb and Saito, who hadn't been there, stops mid-word and looks up at him in confusion. "Yes, darling?", he says, and Arthur knows he really means it when he calls him that.

So, he issues a short order, whirls around and strides out of the room. "Come." Behind him, Ariadne quickly stifles a choke, and he's almost at the door, Eames not having moved a muscle (and how he'd love to turn around to see the look on his face), when she hisses something. Suddenly, Eames scrambles out of his chair and follows Arthur, audience all but forgotten. Arthur closes the door behind them and then walks over to the lift; his own room is one floor down, and he has a really nice bed that he hasn't slept in yet. Not that he intends to do that now.

"Arthur?", Eames asks when they're in the lift and Arthur has pressed his floor button; his voice expresses his confusion and a sort of hope that almost sounds like it hurts. Arthur should've done this much sooner; really, Eames is such an _idiot_.

"You're such an _idiot_ ," Arthur says, gets out of the lift and walks over to his room, opens the door for Eames and enters after him. He doesn't give Eames much chance to look around and get awkward – and at the moment, he's almost sure Eames will be incredibly awkward before they get going; he appears to be rather clumsy where actual emotions are concerned, or maybe it's just with Arthur – simply grabs his shoulders and slams him against the wall, conquers his mouth. He kisses and kisses until Eames is pliant under him, then opens his eyes and pulls back a little, licks his lips.

"Seriously," he murmurs, lets go of Eames's shoulders and starts to undo the buttons of the atrocious shirt the forger is wearing; something with purple and orange in an atrocious paisley pattern that shouldn't be allowed to _exist_ , much less be worn. "I've been wanting to get you out of your clothes since we first met," he continues. "And not just because they're so awful. Seriously, where did you even find this?!" In a slight fit of temper, he roughly pulls it off Eames shoulders, uncaring whether that strains the seams, doesn't pay attention anymore because he's captivated by the sight of skin, skin and ink and hair and _nipples_. He's seen Eames naked without a shirt before, but he's never let himself look as extensively as he wants to, on a job.

Eames wears his physical strength casually; it's visible, but not overwhelming, and really rather hot. Arthur doesn't know which he wants more; to be held down by those biceps or hold them down himself, watch the muscles twitch, feel their strength and restraint. Both prospects seem utterly delicious. He decides he'll decide later, just leans forward to capture those delectable, infuriating lips again for now.

At that, Eames finally seems to come out of his stupor; making a noise low in his throat that sounds a little like a whimper, he shakes the shirt off his wrists (it's a good thing he rarely buttons his cuffs when he has a choice) and wraps his big hands around Arthur's head, captures his jaw and kisses him like he's drowning, like they're both drowning and this is good-bye.

Such an _idiot_.

The both of them, really. Arthur should have done this much sooner; as soon as he had realized that Eames genuinely didn't get it, that he wasn't just playing coy games. But he had thought that, if he made the first step, Eames would think it was just a quick fuck, a one night stand to ward off boredom or to make Eames stop bothering him. He had worried- well. No matter now; he'd simply tie Eames to the bed and _make_ him listen.

Arthur was an expert at using knots that nobody, not even slinky Eames, could wind their way out of.

He best take care of that right away.

Reluctantly pulling away from Eames, who doesn't seem any happier than Arthur is that the kissing isn't continuing, Arthur puts his forehead to Eames's temple and takes a couple of breaths, as much because he needs to as to take in Eames smell. Eames _smell_ , of sweat and detergent and fabric softener and deodorant and perfume, and it should be too much but all of these are subtle, blend together into a delectable mix that is as unique and pleasing as Eames personal smell. Still, Arthur resolves to get them showered and cleaned with scentless soap soon and then spend a whole day making Eames smell of nothing but himself, explore Eames's whole body until he knows it better than his own.

First, though, they will do this. "Get naked and on the bed," he orders as he pulls away, and Eames licks his lips but obeys. Arthur doesn't let himself watch, instead heads over to his suitcase and gets everything he needs for now – condom and lubes and, of course, the rope. He doesn't have enough of that to do more than tie Eames's wrists; it's an emergency supply, not specifically meant for this kind of situation, but Arthur likes to be prepared for all eventualities, and so it's made of multi filament polypropylene; it's soft and doesn't chafe, if you don't struggle too much. Unfortunately, it's red; a color that doesn't actually not suit Eames (infuriatingly, there don't seem to be any colors that look bad on Eames, which doesn't mean he should be allowed to wear them all, especially not in those atrocious combinations he seems to adore). Looking at it, Arthur knows that it will suffice against Eames skin, but it will never show the true potential of how pretty Eames could look, all tied up and helpless. He'll have to take him rope shopping soon; it will probably be terribly difficult to find a color that fits and complements Eames's changeable eye color, but Arthur is looking forward to it.

When Arthur turns around, Eames is lying on the bed and naked, one hand on his thigh, not quite touching his erect cock. He's looking at the items in Arthur's hands, and when he sees the rope he raises an eyebrow and opens his mouth, smarmy remark on the tip of his tongue, Arthur can just see it.

Arthur is on the bed in less than a second, pressing a hand to Eames's mouth, muffling the sound. "Don't," he says, narrowing his eyes, and only when Eames nods does he pull back.

It's not that Arthur minds Eames's prepubescent need to say outrageous things just to see how people will react; in fact he finds it quite amusing, though of course he'd never let Eames know. He'd become uncontrollable if he had any idea. But there's that, and then there's Eames instinct to be brash and crude when he's feeling insecure, and Arthur doesn't like the latter, because that's when Eames can get truly offending and outrageous. It's how he reacted the few times Arthur tried to be a little less subtle in his acceptance of Eames's advances; it's like he didn't really believe Arthur was being serious.

Time to tie Eames up, before he regains enough of his brainspace to revert back to that behavior.

Arthur drops the lube and condoms on the bed an arm's length away from Eames and the rope on Eames's chest; he lets Eames finger it curiously while he quickly disposes of the rest of his clothes, not caring where they'll land. The hotel's laundering service is impeccable; Saito wouldn't allow any less. Like Arthur, he has a fine taste in suits; it's something they like to talk about on occasion.

Eames swallows audibly when he looks up and finds Arthur naked; this time Arthur allows him to speak, and he says "A tattoo, pet? I would never have suspected."

Arthur is beginning to think that that might be true too; he might have miscalculated how observant Eames actually is, or perhaps how good he himself is at disguise. It's a dreadful prospect, the idea that Eames actually believes he's the uptight, suit-wearing person he is at work. Not that he _isn't_ , but that's not at all all there is to him – but no, Arthur is pretty sure Eames gets at least a glimpse of what lies beneath that persona; otherwise, he wouldn't be so obsessed with Arthur. Arthur doesn't exactly know how Eames feels about him, but after two years, he can safely assume that it's more than just the sexual attraction, that it's more than Eames just wanting to dishevel him because he looks so pristine.

So, no, Eames probably is just teasing when he says he never suspected Arthur might have a tattoo. He probably really didn't suspect, but he isn't _surprised_ , and that's what counts.

Raising an eyebrow, but otherwise not dignifying that with a reply, Arthur gets back on the bed and straddles Eames thighs. He's taller than Eames, but only by an inch, and it's mostly in his legs; their torsos are of about equal length, which puts him in the perfect position to nose along Eames's neck, suck on his Adam's apple and graze his teeth over his throat. Eames's breath comes short and shallowly, and as soon as Arthur pulls back, he swallows. His eyes are wide and dark, pupils blown, and Arthur licks his lips, pulls the rope out of Eames's slack fingers, says "I'll tie you to the bed now. Object now if you will."

Eames makes a noise low in his throat and raises his arms over his head, crossed at the wrists. Arthur smiles widely at this display of obedience, but doesn't make the mistake of tying Eames's wrists together like that; only a total rookie would, and Arthur is anything but.

His knots are expert, as Eames finds out when Arthur is done, having tied him to the bedframe, not even having to look up to see what he was doing, gaze fixed on Eames. When he pulls back, Eames flexes his arms, twists a little and pulls; he makes no real effort to get out, but Arthur can see the moment that he realizes that if he tried, he'd have a hard time and probably not manage at all. A satisfied, predatory smile make its way onto Eames's face, and his ocean eyes glitter. He clearly approves of the direction this has taken, something Arthur is quite thankful for. He doesn't _need_ ties – be it being tied up or doing the tying himself – to have fun during sex, but he enjoys it a great deal more when he or his partner are bound in some way. Arthur looks forward to finding out how far Eames's experience goes in that area, and whether he'll allow Arthur to tie him and wear the ropes under his clothes like a promise and a due all at once. Whether he'll learn to tie Arthur up as well.

But that's for later. God, so much is for later; Arthur can barely wait.

Not that he needs to wait any longer, now.

Eames is still smiling that Cheshire smile, and Arthur sits up, leans back to look down at him, red fiber rope wound around his lower arms and wrists above his head, arms bent so nicely, defining his muscles. Arthur wants to lean down and lick his armpit, see if Eames is ticklish and how he tastes, but he thinks he'll taste mainly deodorant right now, so he doesn't.

Instead, he leans down and tastes something else he has been wanting to get into his mouth for quite a while now.

Eames gives a shocked moan when Arthur licks the tip of his cock; he raises his head and stares down at Arthur with wide eyes. Arthur has always been sort of loose-limbed; he can't quite give himself a blowjob, but he can do interesting things – in that area, the Kama Sutra is little to no challenge to him, and he can see that's just what Eames is thinking about. Arthur has never gotten around to trying all of the positions – hardly any, really – and he wonders if he and Eames will.

"Arthur," Eames croaks; his voice has dipped deep and gone hoarse, and Arthur quite likes the way he sounds, desperate and needy but also so, so demanding. _This will work quite nicely,_ he thinks and wraps his tongue around the head of Eames dick before he forms a tight ring with his lips and lets Eames push up into his mouth. He doesn't have much leverage with Arthur still sitting on his thighs, and so Arthur carefully covers his teeth with his lips, creates a vacuum in his mouth – just enough suction to make this exciting, but not near enough to be truly satisfying, and then sinks down.

Apart from being loose-limbed, Arthur also doesn't have a gag reflex.

Eames gives a tortured groan, gasps for breath and gasps his name as Arthur sinks lower and lower, until his nose bumps into Eames's pelvis, pubic hair tickling. "Oh god," Eames gasps, again and again, interspersed with Arthur's name and those pet names. Arthur can't see, but he's fairly sure Eames is pulling at the restrains; he doesn't have much finesse, isn't actually trying to get free, but Arthur bets that he really, really wants to put his hands on Arthur's head now, hold him while he fucks his mouth.

He sucks a little harder and pulls up, just enough so he can take a breath, then sinks down again; he can't keep this up for long or he'll get dizzy, but it's worth it to hear Eames start to curse, getting more and more desperate, and then, when Arthur swallows around his cock, he gives a shout, his hips twitching as he tries the impossible and push deeper into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur pulls up again and off completely, breathing heavily and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; Eames is staring at him with wide, wild eyes, looking like the last of his braincells have dribbled out of his ears just by looking at him. Arthur knows he must look disheveled; flushed and panting, lips red and wet and swollen, and if he tried to speak now, his voice would sound rough and unused. A guy could come from this, he knows; one day soon, he's going to let Eames, let him fuck his mouth and come down his throat, shudder as if he would get it up again if he could when Arthur says his name afterwards, sounding hoarse and abused.

He licks his lips and tests what it might be like, says "Eames" with lidded eyes, throat rough, and Eames shudders and strains against his ties. Arthur enjoys it immensely, all that strength bound and almost tamed, watching and knowing that Eames won't go anywhere without his say-so.

But then Eames says, voice hoarse as Arthur's, "That's quite enough of that, pet," and Arthur sighs but gives in, leans to the side and reaches for the condoms and lube. Eames cock rubs wetly against his belly, and Arthur is tempted to play some more, but he sees Eames's point. Playtime later, sex now.

Dropping a foiled packet on Eames's belly, Arthur opens the bottle of lube and coats his fingers, reaches behind himself and pushes two in; he isn't too tight because he does own toys, and before a job he habitually makes good use of them because he works better when relaxed. So his index and middle finger slide in easily; he pushes them in and out a bit to spread the lube and get used to the stretch, then adds a third finger. It's a bit more difficult now, hurts a little, but Arthur does enjoy a flavor of pain with his pleasure, and he lets his eyes flutter closed, revels in the feeling as he scissors his fingers, stretches himself open wide in preparation for Eames's cock.

Eames, who curses and whose thighs are tense underneath Arthur; Eames, who he has been waiting for for so long already.

It's not really enough preparation when Arthur opens his eyes and locks gaze with Eames, flexes his fingers one last time and then pulls them out, but he doesn't really care; he can't wait any longer, wants this now, now, now. His fingers tremble when he reaches for the packet on Eames's belly, rips open the foil and takes out the condom without once looking away from Eames, not even when the smoothes the latex down his hard cock. Eames twitches when he slicks him with cool lube, but his expression is greedy when Arthur takes hold of his cock and slides forward, positions himself above it.

And when Arthur sinks down, Eames starts to bite his lip, and Arthur has no idea why but that must be one of the sexiest images he's ever seen; Eames white teeth digging into his full lower lip, eyes half-lidded and dark while Arthur fills himself with his cock.

When he's seated firmly in Eames's lap, cock buried deep inside him, he rolls his hips, making Eames, who has been remarkably quiet up until that point – lower lip firmly between his teeth – groans. Then he opens his mouth and moans again, louder this time; his eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head back, takes a few breaths before he opens his eyes again, looks up at Arthur. Arthur has the feeling he only barely was able to keep from letting something premature happen, and he bites his own lip, keeps perfectly still as he stares down at Eames.

And Eames stares up at him, mouth open and panting, and suddenly Arthur notices that his arms are straining against the rope, muscles so tense they're trembling. He blinks and leans forwards a little, puts his hands on Eames' chest. "I can free you off the bedpost, but I won't untie you completely," he offers, well-aware that if he does so, he'll give Eames the opportunity to free himself, if only for a moment.

Eames knows as well, and he looks up at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "I've never fucked anyone with my wrists bound," he says, voice dark.

"You're fucking me now," Arthur offers and grinds his hips, making both of them shudder.

"I think you're the one fucking me right now, pet," Eames replies dryly.

Arthur raises an eyebrow but doesn't dispute the point; he also doesn't say anything else. The decision is Eames's to make.

They stay like that, suspended in the moment, staring at each other and not moving a muscle apart from their heavy breathing. Until Eames suddenly, unexpectedly flexes his abdominal muscles, thrusts up into Arthur, making both of them gasp. "What are you waiting for, darling?", Eames says cockily, and Arthur narrows his eyes, clenches his muscles around Eames's dick, making him lose the challenging glint in his eyes and bite his lower lip again.

That's it, then. Arthur leans back completely and puts his hands on his own thighs, tilts his face back and closes his eyes as he pulls himself up until only the tip of Eames's cock is in him anymore; he stays there for a moment, clenching again. Eames gives a shocked moan, and that's all Arthur needs to really start moving, sliding down and then up again immediately, quickly establishing a rhythm that is somewhere in the middle between languid and needy. He himself is moaning now, because with the angle his hips are tilted, every time he sinks down Eames cock pushes past his prostate, and it's delicious. And then Eames apparently loses what little patience he had left and suddenly pushes upwards just as Arthur is sinking down again, making for a hard, startling thrust that has Arthur's rhythm falter. He pants and puts one hand on Eames's chest for leverage and balance.

Arthur meets Eames's eyes for one breathless moment, and then they both start moving at the same time, Eames pushing up and Arthur pushing down, all of his previous, careful calculation gone as they race towards climax.

Personally, Arthur doesn't care much if they come at the same time; it's expedient, because it means that they can both enjoy the aftershocks without needing to care about anything else, but on the other hand, he quite enjoys being fucked when he's loose and sated, or fuck a partner who is. But this time, he thinks he wants to come first, or if not that, at least simultaneously; he wants Eames to feel him clench up around his cock, wants him to see Arthur's face when he comes and to feel Arthur's come when it spills onto his belly and chest. He wants Eames to know without a doubt what this is doing to Arthur, not have it be blurred by his own orgasm.

That's why Arthur slides his free hand, which is still resting on his thigh, up and takes hold of his own cock, starts to wank himself in sync while he rides Eames; he could come without because he has a sensitive prostrate and each time Eames brushes it he gets closer to coming, but it would take longer.

"Arthur," Eames gasps when he notices and meets his downward thrust with even more power; it startles a moan out of Arthur. Licking his lips, he then captures Eames's eyes with his own and brings himself off within three strokes, clenches tight around Eames's cock as he comes hard. Vaguely, he hears himself moan Eames's name, and Eames groans needfully; it's all Arthur can do to keep on moving. Thankfully, it doesn't take Eames long to come; pretty soon he thrusts up and presses his hips tight against Arthur's arse as he shudders and moans loudly.

They sink back down on the bed together, breathing heavily; Arthur only barely remembers that he should get the condom off Eames now, before he's trembling so hard he won't be able to prevent a mess anymore. Eames makes a noise high in his throat when Arthur rises and he slides out; Arthur quickly takes hold of his softening cock and takes off the condom, ties it up and drops it somewhere, he doesn't care. That taken care of, he hums happily and collapses on the bed.

He doesn't like too much physical contact immediately after, because it's sweaty and he's out of breath, but he slides one knee over Eames's as he rolls on his side. Eames reacts with a happy noise, and that is all they communicate for a while as they regain their breath.

Arthur probably dozed off at least a little, because he has no idea how long it's been when Eames clears his throat twice before he says, still sounding hoarse, "Gonna untie me now, baby?"

Arthur opens his eyes and raises his head so Eames gets the full effect of his glare. "Only if you promise to never, ever call me baby again."

He can see Eames think about lying, but he can't see what decision Eames comes to; he only knows that Eames gives him a happy grin and says, "Of course, darling." Probably he figured out that, since this is the first time ever Arthur complained about a pet name, the other ones are okay. Which is perfectly true, but doesn't apply to any pet name Eames hasn't used on him yet; nevertheless, Arthur makes a mental note that he'll have to figure out a proper punishment for the first time Eames will call him sugar.

But it will probably be a while until then, because Eames mostly knows just how far he can push Arthur, and so Arthur kneels up and leans over Eames to untie the knot he made. Eames takes the opportunity of Arthur's chest being right above him and licks his nipple; when Arthur doesn't complain he does it again, and then he starts to suck. Somehow, Arthur thinks he should have known that Eames would be the oral sort of person.

When the rope is loose enough for Eames to wriggle his wrists out, Arthur quickly takes hold of those wrists before Eames can and massages them. Arthur's knots are perfect and didn't cut off any circulation, but Eames strained against them a lot, and his skin is red. He might even get bruises, Arthur thinks; he quite likes that thought.

Eames makes a grateful noise, still sucking Arthur's nipple, but twists out of Arthur's grab quickly; he slides his hands up Arthur's arms, over his shoulders and down his back to come to rest on his ass. "Been wanting to do that for _years_ ," he explains as he squeezes; Arthur flexes the muscles of his ass in reply and then lets Eames capture him, arrange him against his chest to his liking, with Eames arms wrapped tight around him and one of his legs over his. Eames squeezes once, then lets him go; Arthur doesn't move away.

"Your hair is still almost perfect," Eames muses later and quickly remedies that by running his hand through it.

Arthur makes a non-committal noise; he's lying half on top of Eames, face pressed into his neck, and he quite likes it there. No reason to move.

"Are we going to do this now?", Eames asks even later, quietly.

Frowning, Arthur pulls himself up a little to meet his eyes. "I thought that much was clear. I've been waiting for you to follow through for years, the least you could do is make up for that."

"Years?", Eames repeats slowly. "Why didn't you ever say?"

"I realize you might not have noticed," Arthur replies archly, "but I am not that fond of declarations of romantic interest. Besides," he adds with a scowl, "I didn't realize I need to. I thought it was pretty obvious when I didn't stop you from calling me these names."

Eames stares at him for a moment, and then he gives a laugh. "Pet, I might be a very good observer, but I'm not actually psychic. It wasn't at all obvious from my end."

Arthur scowls some more. "I noticed. Why do you think I dragged you off like that?" Deciding the matter as closed with that, he moves back into his previous position, cuddled into Eames's chest. Eames wraps his arms back around him, one hand coming to rest on Arthur's ass, and they fall back into quiet.

Until Arthur breaks it by saying, as quietly as Eames had been before, "It's obvious now, isn't it?"

Eames has the gall to chuckle, but he says "Yes, Arthur. It's obvious now."


End file.
